


a choice to live, not be alone

by seeingrightly



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Kaiju, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 03:14:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17317007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeingrightly/pseuds/seeingrightly
Summary: It wasn’t always like this, but Hermann doesn’t, at the end of the day, have anyone to share his life with. He doesn’t have anyone to spend the end of the year with. It’s just Hermann, ringing in New Year’s Eve by traveling to yet another conference. He’s supposed to be halfway through his flight when the clock strikes midnight, actually, but the plane never takes off.He receives an email early on the 31st telling him that all flights are being postponed because of the storm that’s already picked up outside. Though he’s not expecting anything different, Hermann gets up to look out the window of his room in the small inn. There’s already a thick coating of snow on the ground, the trees, and the few cars parked outside.or: the first 20 minutes of a newmann hallmark holiday movie





	a choice to live, not be alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buckgaybarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/gifts).



> this is my belated secret santa gift for [maria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes). i know you love hallmark christmas movies, and you really enjoyed my concept of jack black as jacob geiszler and REALLY supplemented it by coming up with danny devito as illia geiszler. (that's who everyone should be picturing while reading this.) i hope you enjoy it, maria!
> 
> title is from winter '05 by ra ra riot, which may or may not also be the song mentioned within the fic.

 

 

 

Hermann Gottlieb has been referred to as “married to his work” many times, with many inflections. He’s received worse insults. He’s lucky to love what he does for a living, and to be so good at something so interesting; the problem is that Hermann doesn’t have much in his life outside of mathematics.

He has nieces and nephews he sees less often than he’d like, and a rather large menagerie of plants given the size of his apartment, and one very old cat. He’s well-respected at the university and has good relationships with his favorite students. He gets to travel to conferences all around the world, actually, to present his research.

But at the end of the day, Hermann lives in a small apartment with some plants and a cat and a series of video calls with his family that end too soon. He eats poorly reheated leftovers at the small table by the window. He has more puzzle books that an adult man should, he thinks, even an adult man who enjoys puzzle books very much.

It wasn’t always like this, but Hermann doesn’t, at the end of the day, have anyone to share his life with. He doesn’t have anyone to spend the end of the year with. It’s just Hermann, ringing in New Year’s Eve by traveling to yet another conference. He’s supposed to be halfway through his flight when the clock strikes midnight, actually, but the plane never takes off.

He receives an email early on the 31st telling him that all flights are being postponed because of the storm that’s already picked up outside. Though he’s not expecting anything different, Hermann gets up to look out the window of his room in the small inn. There’s already a thick coating of snow on the ground, the trees, and the few cars parked outside. 

Given the holiday, all the actual hotels in the area were booked solid, and Hermann had needed to resort to this kitschy, overly-homey inn. It has good Yelp ratings, at least, but it’s hardly the kind of experience Hermann yearns for when he travels. The decor is garishly festive, though Hermann appreciates that a variety of holidays are represented. 

The hosts are also… chatty, or attempt to be, when Hermann enters common areas. He hasn’t spent much time around the inn, because of the conference, but that’s ended now, and his flight has been canceled, so Hermann expects he’ll be seeing and hearing more of the two short, stout, bearded, undoubtedly related men who run the inn.

He’s not sure what, exactly, to do with himself at first, but he supposes he must let them know he’ll need to stay for longer. Likely they’re assuming as much, given the weather, and likely they won’t have to turn away any other potential guests in order to extend his stay, but the sooner he officially informs them the better. 

Hermann heads out into the hallway of the inn. It’s quiet, but the handful of other guests are milling about as he makes his way to the front desk. Many of them appear to be in their pajamas, or at least loungewear, and Hermann feels overdressed in the clothing he was planning to wear to the airport.

  
“Excuse me,” he says when he reaches the front desk.

The taller of the two men who run the inn is sitting on a stool behind the front desk, tuning a guitar. Though his hair is thinning on top, it reaches his shoulders, and he wears a faded Santa t-shirt. He doesn’t appear to be cold at all. He jumps slightly when Hermann speaks, but then he smiles in a way that seems genuine.

“Hey, man. How can I help?”

He doesn’t set the guitar aside, or stop fiddling with it.

“I’m going to have to extend my stay,” Hermann says. “I don’t know when my flight home will end up happening.”

“Aw, well, I’ll tack on another night for you. Hey, feel free to join the New Year’s festivities out in the lounge tonight, alright? Probably not as exciting as whatever plans you’ve got waiting at home, but it’ll be nice in the meantime.”

“Ah,” Hermann says, “no, I’m sure your plans are more exciting than mine.”

The man narrows his eyes at Hermann, but in a considering, friendly way that makes him nervous. He glances down at a notepad on the desk between them.

“Hermann,” he says, pointing across the desk. “I’m Jacob. I was inviting you before as your host, but now I’m inviting you as your buddy, okay?”

A frown that Hermann can’t help crosses his face. He recognizes a pity invitation when he hears one.

“I’ll consider it,” he says, mild and polite enough.

Jacob looks disappointed, but he turns back to his guitar as Hermann begins to walk away. The tune he slowly plucks brings Hermann to a stop, though. He can’t place it, but it’s familiar, something he used to know. It feels him with an odd feeling, like there’s a memory just out of reach. Jacob notices, because he stops playing, and when Hermann looks back over his shoulder, they make eye contact.

“We’re gonna be playing music tonight,” Jacob offers, a little cautious. “My family. And any guests, if they want. There’ll be food, too, and board games. You seem like the kinda guy who likes board games.”

That last sentence is offered up with another genuine smile. He’s not making fun of Hermann.

“Thank you, Jacob,” he says after a long moment. “I’ll stop by.”

Hermann does like board games. He doesn’t have the opportunity to play them very often.

 

For an hour or so, Hermann kills time by reading the book he’d planned to read on his flight home. He’s going to end up needing to buy another at the airport, depending on how long he’s stuck at the inn. He could call his sister, but he doesn’t yet want to listen to her thoughts on his spending the holiday alone. 

It’s strange, how long it takes to get out of the habit of reaching for the phone, after there’s no longer someone to message whenever the mood strikes, or out of boredom, or at all.

He stops reading when his stomach growls quite loudly. On his way out in the mornings he’s stopped into the dining area to grab a quick breakfast, but this will be his first dinner at the inn. As a prelude to the party he’s agreed to attend at least briefly, it makes him a bit nervous, but there’s nothing to be done about it.

When Hermann enters the small dining room, the handful of people already seated there glance up, and the other man who runs the inn makes his way over from the doorway to the kitchen. He’s very short, with significantly less hair than Jacob, and wears thick glasses that he squints up at Hermann from behind, his hands on his hips.

“Sit where you want,” he says gruffly. “There’s a menu on the table. I only make a few things but I make ‘em great. Yell when you’re ready.”

With that, he turns on his heel and marches back into the kitchen, so Hermann does as he was told, with the exception of yelling. Jacob’s brother, if Hermann had to guess, wanders in and out of the kitchen every few minutes to stop at different tables. Though his demeanour is unfriendly, all the other guests look happy to be talking to him.

“You ready?” the man asks as he passes by, pointing at Hermann in a way that would be accusatory in any other circumstance.

“Oh,” Hermann says. “Yes.”

To his surprise, several of the options on the handwritten menu are German cuisines, and Hermann picks one of those, which makes the man squint at him even more.

“You’re Hermann, right?” he says, pointing again. “I wanna know what you think of my spaetzle.”

Hermann hadn’t ordered any spaetzle.

“Alright,” he says slowly. “What’s your name?”

“Illia. I gotta run before my bacon burns.”

Illia brings Hermann the food he ordered, and some rather good spaetzle, and a pastry he also hadn’t asked for. When he places that on the table, at the end of the meal, he sits down across from Hermann. The rest of the dining room is empty.

“Good?” Illia asks.

Hermann nods, his mouth full.

“I don’t get German opinions a lot,” Illia says. “And you look like you don’t get fed good food a lot.”

Hermann shrugs, a little uncomfortable.

“There are many nice restaurants where I live -”

“No, no,” Illia says, waving a hand between them. “Being given a meal by someone, person to person, it’s different.”

“It is,” Hermann admits after a moment. “You’re right. I don’t experience that a lot. This was very nice. Thank you. But why...”

Illia shrugs, surprisingly expansive for his small body.

“I can tell when a guest needs it. And it’s the last day of the year. You gotta set the tone. Do you want to spend the new year the way you spent the last one?”

Illia’s face is all scrunched up behind his glasses. He doesn’t know Hermann at all. He shouldn’t feel defensive, even though Illia’s entirely right. Hermann has a feeling the question isn’t meant to be rhetorical, but it isn’t one he wants to answer.

“Thank you,” Hermann says again after a moment, and then he gets up and leaves.

 

He’s not sure what time the party is meant to begin, but Hermann doesn’t really want to head back to his room to be alone with his thoughts. Instead he walks through the halls of the small inn, avoiding the lounge and the main entrance. There’s a large window near the door that leads into the backyard, and he settles on the window seat to watch the snow.

New Year’s Eve has always been a melancholy time for Hermann. The truth is that he’s never known how to initiate the kind of changes he longs for in his life, the kind of changes many people make on January 1st, at least allegedly. He’s taken to trying not to think about it, instead of dreaming for what he doesn’t know how to attain. Being reminded of all of this by a stranger, even a kind one, doesn’t help anything.

Hermann hadn’t realized that one of the doors he’d walked past was open, but the sounds of a guitar being strummed start up from one of the nearby rooms. It’s the same song Jacob had been playing earlier, but this time he’s humming along, and this time Hermann recognizes it, something like a chill running down his spine.

He used to hear this song often, sometimes played on guitar, sometimes sung unsteadily, sometimes played on a record player or over crackling speakers. He heard this song over video calls, over the phone, on his own devices until he deleted it.

Hermann rises abruptly from the window seat, and in his haste he bumps into a nearby side table. A short stack of books topples onto the floor with a rather loud thump, and the music stops.

“Everything okay out here?” Jacob calls as he comes into the hallway.

“Yes, yes, it’s alright,” Hermann says, bending down to gather up the books.

When he stands again, he takes a moment to unnecessarily adjust his clothing before he looks back up at Jacob.

“You look like you saw a ghost, man,” Jacob says, quiet.

“Ah,” Hermann says, and then, for some reason, he continues, “I heard one. That song…”

Jacob lets out an understanding noise.

“Pull up some memories?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe, giving Hermann space, giving him an exit if he needs it.

“Yes,” Hermann says. “An old… friend of mine… was fond of it.”

“An old…  _ friend _ ,” Jacob repeats, raising his eyebrows. “One of those, huh? Complicated one?”

“Yes,” Hermann says again, sighing. “It ended badly.”

Jacob nods.

“Sorry to drudge ‘em up,” he says. “Though it is a time for reflection, if you believe in that kinda thing. Could be beneficial to lean into it. Learn from your mistakes, or theirs.”

Hermann bites his lip. It might be true that he’s spent most of his time since that disastrous meeting trying to forget everything that had happened. He isn’t one for wondering what could have been - he doesn’t let himself fall into that, because it isn’t productive. But there would probably be benefit to evaluating the mistakes made on both ends for the sake of not repeating them.

It’s not like he doesn’t know he was partly in the wrong. But to really consider the nuances of it all - to delve into his own inflexibility, the rigidity of his expectations, his unwillingness to be vulnerable -

It sounds unpleasant. It also sounds beneficial.

“You might be right,” Hermann says. “And you shouldn’t apologize for your music.”

“Aw, I’d never apologize for  _ that _ ,” Jacob says, grinning and waving a hand at Hermann, though the gesture is entirely different from when his brother had done it.

He puts his hands on his hips, looking at Hermann for a moment longer before he speaks again.

“I’m gonna set up the lounge for the party now. You wanna join me?”

Hermann only hesitates for a moment before he agrees.

 

Only some of the guests have changed out of their pajamas by the time the party starts. Jacob passes out noisemakers while Illia passes out alcohol and snacks. Hermann ends up sitting on the couch next to a rather old woman he hasn’t seen before who’s wearing a sparkly dress and seems to know Illia well.

The television is muted but playing Times Square coverage, and there’s a Queen record playing at a volume that makes it necessary to almost shout. The lights are dimmed, and there’s strands of multicolored lights around the room, and it’s homey in a way that isn’t as off-putting as Hermann would anticipate.

“Illia!” the woman next to him yells. “When’s your boy getting here?”

“He’s not  _ my _ boy,” Illia yells back instead of answering, walking past with another tray of food.

“Sure he is,” the woman says, quieter this time, though not very.

“The roads are giving him some trouble,” Jacob calls from where he’s digging through his records. “But it won’t be much longer. He was already in the area before the snow got bad.”

“Oh, good!” the woman yells, gesturing with her drink.

Her arm gets a little too close to Hermann. He is, at the end of the day, not one for parties, no matter the size. A break is all he needs, from the volume, from the close quarters. He stands up from the couch and makes his way into the hallway, ready to tell someone he’s just off to the loo if they ask, but no one does. Jacob does catch his eye and give him a smile, and Hermann returns it genuinely.

In the toilet, Hermann leans against the closed door and just rests for a moment. He is proud of himself for going to the party. He’s also proud of himself for respecting his own limits. If he can’t stay the whole time, he can’t, but in the meantime, he will enjoy it. He’ll ring in the new year with a group of kind people, for once.

As Hermann makes his way down the hallway back to the lounge, the front door of the inn opens, and a young man wearing a leather jacket and tight, snow-damped jeans steps inside, his head lowered to protect his face from the weather. When he shuts the door and looks up, his eyes are mostly concealed by the water droplets on his glasses, but Hermann would know that face anywhere, after any length of time.

“What are you doing here?” Hermann asks, his grip on his cane going so tight that he swears he feels his knuckles creak.

Newt’s entire body freezes up, and he slowly turns his head from the direction of the lounge toward Hermann. His face goes blank with shock, and then screws up as he points a finger at Hermann.

“Me?” Newt yells. “This is my family’s - what the hell are  _ you _ doing here, dude?”

“Your family -”

Hermann looks into the lounge. Everyone is staring at them, but most notable are the expressions on Jacob and Illia’s faces, some combination of recognition and concern. Now that Hermann knows, he can see their resemblance to Newt. 

“I didn’t know,” Hermann says faintly. “I’m here for a conference.”

Newt unzips his jacket, wipes his glasses off on his shirt, and then jams them back onto his face, squinting at Hermann like he might have disappeared.

“You’re staying here,” he says. “Of course! Of course you’re staying here while _ I’m _ here, and you’re probably  _ stuck _ here, now we’re both stuck here, that’s great, that’s -”

“Newt,” Jacob interrupts. “Come say hi to us and then maybe take this into the other room, huh?”

Newt looks over at his father, a somewhat apologetic expression crossing his face. He takes off his jacket and hangs it up, and then he goes into the other room, hugging his father and uncle and several of the party guests as well, including the woman in the sparkly dress. Hermann watches numbly until Newt makes his way back toward him.

“You wanna - dining room?” Newt asks quietly, gesturing down the hallway.

Hermann follows him, though he’s not sure what there is to say once they get there. He barely steps into the room. Newt leans against a table and crosses his arms.

“I didn’t know,” Hermann says.

“Yeah, well, we’re both here now,” Newt replies. “So, I don’t know, do you want to - set some ground rules to try to make this bearable?”

Newt won’t look at him. Hermann isn’t sure if it’d be better or worse if he would.

“Ground rules?” he asks. “Like what?”

“You know, like, no talking about what happened,” Newt says. “Stuff that’ll help us get through this without ripping each other’s heads off. And to help us, you know, go back to pretending nothing happened once we’re gone. I don’t know, man. You love rules, don’t you?”

There’s a bitterness to Newt’s tone. He’s not just angry, he’s upset. Hermann’s throat feels tight, but Newt is waiting for him to speak, so he clears it as best he can.

“I suppose,” Hermann says. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe we should just avoid one another as much as possible.”

Hermann isn’t sure that he wants to do that. Hasn’t Hermann spent his day thinking about change, about learning from the past, about planning for how he wants to be in the future? Isn’t this an opportunity for the new year?

But Newt looks so small and coiled and ready to snap, and won’t look at him, and Hermann can’t only follow his own extremely newfound path. He has to respect what Newt wants too. And Newt’s shoulders relax just the slightest bit at Hermann’s suggestion.

“I don’t want you telling my dad or my uncle your version of what happened,” Newt says. “They only know parts of it from me.”

Hermann bites his lip. Technically, he’s already told Jacob a very small amount of his version, but not enough for him to need to tell Newt.

“Alright,” he says. “What do you want me to say if they ask?”

Newt does look up at him then, his expression raw.

“I don’t know!” he says. “You’re a smart guy, Hermann. You’ll think of something. Why are you acting  _ nice _ to me? What do you think is gonna happen here?”

“I don’t  _ know _ , Newton,” Hermann snaps before he can stop himself. “I just want to get through this, like you. Why? Would you rather I do something other than exactly what you’re asking me to do?”

“No!” Newt says, throwing up his arms. “I don’t know! God. Maybe we just shouldn’t talk at all. Starting now.”

“ _ Fine _ ,” Hermann says.

There’s a pause, and then Hermann turns back toward the doorway. Jacob and Illia are standing at the end of the hall, clearly attempting to eavesdrop, but when they see Hermann, they both disappear around the corner. As Hermann begins to walk, Newt follows him, then passes him. As they reach the front hall, Newt turns to look at Hermann.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

Hermann had been planning to head back to his room, but Newt’s suspicion fires him up again. He wants to point out that Newt is breaking the rules already.

“What, you want me to sit in my room alone?” Hermann asks instead, as though that hadn’t been his plan.

“No!” Jacob says, from about a foot away, leaning very innocently against the back of the sofa. “Hermann’s my guest, kiddo.”

“You don’t gotta interact,” Illia adds, sounding a little winded where he stands a few more feet into the room, “but you do gotta spend a little time in the same place. Come on, Newty. It’s a holiday.”

Newt rubs a hand over his face, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead.

“You two,” he groans, walking further into the room to grab a drink.

After Newt passes, Jacob winks at Hermann, and Illia sends him a thumbs up. Hermann has no idea what to make of it, or what they know, or what they’re planning, but it does make him feel a little bit better to know that these two men who have been kind to him are not only, unquestionably on Newt’s side in this.

Hermann settles onto the couch next to Illia’s friend again, watching as Newt walks over to the collection of musical instruments in the corner of the room. There’s an upright piano, as well as Jacob’s guitar and another. Newt touches the lid of the piano, and Hermann is seized with a combination of fear and longing. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he has to watch Newt play music in person, after he didn’t get to last time. He doesn’t think he could watch it, with circumstances as they are.

Newt had brought his guitar with him. It had been a surprise. Hermann was going to ask how much extra money it cost him, to fly with that as a carry-on, just for Hermann. But he hadn’t gotten to. Things went sour too quickly for that.

Newt moves from the piano to one of the guitars, and then he looks over at Hermann. There’s a softer expression on his face than Hermann has seen yet. It’s tired, and still angry, but there’s something like longing in it too. He looks away, though, when their eyes meet, and Hermann does too.

He looks to the television instead. It’s only 8:32pm.

For once, Hermann has absolutely no idea what he’ll be doing when the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve. This is perhaps the least predictable his life has been since Newt was last in it.

He has no idea what tone he’ll be setting for the new year, but if Hermann is honest with himself, it’s exciting.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter at [coralbluenmbr5](https://twitter.com/coralbluenmbr5) or tumblr at [ch3ry1b10ss0m](http://ch3ry1b10ss0m.tumblr.com/)


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